


Take a Sad Song and Make It Better

by prettyboyporter



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Post-Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22222663
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettyboyporter/pseuds/prettyboyporter
Summary: On the way to a cabin trip in Illinois with Billy, Steve's Beemer broke down in Sesser. He knew a guy who lived there.He wasn't amused -- but Murray turned out to be more helpful than he could've imagined.
Relationships: Alexei/Murray Bauman, Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 56
Kudos: 393





	Take a Sad Song and Make It Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [USSTrashBarge](https://archiveofourown.org/users/USSTrashBarge/gifts).



> for USSTrashBarge -- Janna I love you!

On the shoulder of a backroad in Illinois, Steve stood in front of the popped hood of the Beemer. He watched as radiator fluid pooled in the dirt and dried leaves below -- the hose must’ve come off shortly before he noticed the smoke. “Fucking bullshit.”

Billy leaned over the engine and watched the fluid leak. “You need a new hose.” 

“Yep.”

“This is gonna have to get towed.” 

“Mmhmm.” 

Every drop of radiator fluid on the ground seemed like an appropriate metaphor for Steve’s excitement about this impromptu trip. In his kitchen that morning Billy showed up with dark circles under his eyes, exhaustion from a nightmare written in the slump of his posture and residual anxiety in the clench of his fist. Steve pulled Billy into an embrace when tears slipped from the corners of his eyes, and Steve said _let’s get the fuck out of town. Go to Rend Lake for a couple of nights. Me, you, a hotel room and a couple six-packs._ Billy nodded and pressed his face to Steve’s shoulder, his breath hot on Steve’s skin, tips of his fingers lodged under the waistband of Steve’s jeans.

“The repair shouldn’t take long. Just gotta get to a phone.” Steve thought about the fantasies he’d concocted during his afternoon shift earlier at work -- sharing a bed with Billy. Feeling the warmth of Billy’s body pressed against his own. Beer drunk and loose and safe, he’d thought that tonight maybe he’d finally feel what Billy’s lips felt like pressed against his own -- what Billy’s scars might feel like under his fingers. 

Billy puffed out a breath. “No goddamn way we’re getting to the lake tonight. How the fuck are we supposed to get a towtruck out here?” 

Steve’s hands gripped the car frame a little more tightly where his hands were resting. “We’re in Sesser. I saw the sign a couple miles back.” 

Billy looked around at the endless trees surrounding them like he was missing something. “You know someone out here? Like a Berenstain Bear with a phone in a tree or some shit?”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed deeply. “Basically. Yeah. An annoying, paranoid Berenstain Bear in a creepy ass bunker.” 

**~*~**

Steve pressed the white button on the warehouse’s intercom and crossed his arms. 

Billy pointed at the spray-painted _Keep Out_ on the door. “Seriously? This is where we’re gonna get a phone?” 

“Look at the camera up and to your right,” came a tinny voice through the intercom speaker. 

Steve leaned forward and peered at the speaker. 

“ _Up_ and to your _right_ , Harrington.” 

Steve and Billy turned and looked up at the camera. 

“Identify yourselves.” 

Steve raised his hands. “Are you serious? You just identified me, Murray. Let us in.” 

“ _Identify yourselves_.” 

“You gotta be kidding me. Steve Harrington.”

“Billy Hargrove.” 

The door popped open and there was a curly-haired, wide-grinning man wearing glasses who Steve assumed must have been Alexei, the Russian scientist who Steve was told about but had never actually met. “Steve! Billy!” he said in a thick accent. “I have heard much about you. Come, come!” He stepped aside and ushered them in as _goddammit Alexei, you can’t just let anyone in like that, they could be impostors or--_ came half through the speaker and half from the room behind Alexei as Murray walked up behind him. 

Murray stopped Billy and Steve short and the end of the entrance hallway -- an odd sight of wound-up energy that was a foil to the soft, mellow jazz coming from the other end of the warehouse. He pulled his ratty bathrobe a little tighter and looked at Steve, then at Billy. “How do I know that _you_ ,” he pointed at Billy. “Are _actually_ Billy Hargrove and not that _mind_ creature.” He waved his hand around the air.

Steve stepped in closer. “Murray come on man. I just need your phone. My car broke down-”

“ _Nyet_ , this will not do.” Alexei pushed through and stroked Murray’s beard. “They are fine. Clearly okay. No monsters run around, outside or in brains or in upside down. We have confirmed this. Let them in and use telephone. Don’t be rude, Murray.” His tone grew quiet and he said a few words in Russian. 

Murray visibly softened under Alexei’s touch. “Fine. Harrington, phone’s there.” He gestured to the sitting area where there were couches, and table, about 32 stacked TV screens and might in some sense be considered a living room. 

“You, come with me. I make you a drink,” Alexei said to Billy. 

Murray sighed down at his boat shoes. 

**~*~**

“Alright. Yeah, no. Thank you. Thanks. I appreciate it.” 

Steve hung up the phone and joined the other three in the kitchen -- Billy drifted closer to Steve’s side. They all held tall glasses full of ice and what Steve strongly suspected was more than just soda water. Murray thrust a glass at him and held his own glass forward for a toast. “Drink up, Harrington.”

Steve clinked his glass against Murray’s. “Cheers.” 

Murray got a huge grin on his face, looked between Billy and Steve, and said, “ _Za lyubov_.” 

Alexei coughed on his drink. When he realized that he had everyone’s focus, he said, “Murray give toast to both of you healths. Is all he did.” 

Murray rolled his eyes and returned his attention to Steve. “What’d the garage say?” 

Steve took a drink and managed to not cough against the hot burn of vodka down his throat. “He said they’ll tow it in tonight and look at it first thing in the morning. If it’s the radiator hose, it’ll be ready no later than noon. Easy fix.” 

“Well then. You’ll have to stay the night here. Plenty of room.” Murray gestured to the room past the living room -- the room with just one bed. “You boys eat dinner yet?” 

“No,” Billy said. “We were gonna get something on our way to the lake.” 

“I’ll go pick something up.” Murray drank the last of his drink and walked over to the side table for his keys. “Everyone good with Whoppers and fries?” 

Billy nodded, and Steve said, “no onions.” He started to reach for his wallet, but Murray held up his hand. “No no, gentlemen. I insist. This one’s on me tonight. Compliments of the United States government.” He grinned widely shared a brief, quiet conversation with Alexei in Russian before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Alexei’s lips, then glanced back at Billy and Steve. “I’d send Alexei, but they never understand him when he tries to order.” 

Alexei murmured something quietly and touched Murray’s side, right above his waist, caressed with his thumb, and it was painfully intimate -- Steve decided to become very interested in the ice cubes in his drink. He put the glass to his lips, tilted his head back, and drank deeply as Murray headed out the door. 

“Wasn’t expecting to get wasted in some shithole in bumfuck Illinois, but here we are,” Billy said quietly to Steve. 

Steve looked down and Billy’s glass was empty next to him on the counter. “Yep. Here we are.”

The kitchen was dingy and run-down looking. Everything about the place seemed to be covered in years of dust. Piles of clutter lay everywhere, papers, boxes, folders, empty bottles and ash trays. It wasn’t the quiet cabin by the lake Steve had envisioned earlier -- the one that would face the rising sun in the mornings. One that would have HBO and a fireplace. 

But then in the bunker, there was the sweet voice of Billie Holiday on the stereo turning everything a little soft. The warmth of some decent vodka. Witnessing the loving intimacy of two men -- Steve had never seen that before. He’d seen Robin kiss her girlfriend a few times, but never two men in front of his eyes and now that he had, he felt it all shifting into place. 

He felt that now -- that he could have that, too.

And suddenly, Murray’s dingy little bunker became a whole lot brighter. 

**~*~**

They finished eating and Murray poured another round of drinks. “Commie bastards sure know how to make the good stuff.” 

“Hey!” Alexei objected.

“Aw no honey.” Murray plopped down next to him on the sofa and tapped the tip of his nose. “You’re _my_ commie bastard.” 

Alexei rolled his eyes and said flatly, “So sweet with your words. _Bozhe moi_. What will I ever do with myself.” 

Murray turned to Billy and Steve. “So why the lake for you two? Romantic getaway? Two male lovers stifled by a small town seeking the sweet freedom to be able to hold hands in seclusion minus slurs and judgmental gazes?” 

“What? No, I mean. No,” Billy said a little high-pitched and a little hysterically. 

Steve held up his hands defensively and felt his face flush eighteen shades of red. “No. It’s not like that. We’re just friends.” 

Murray and Alexei shared a look and burst out laughing. Alexei wiped tears from his eyes and said something in Russian. Murray said, “I _know_ , baby.” He leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. “You’ve got shared trauma. Likely both have PTSD. You’re both young and good-looking. You have obvious chemistry. I don’t understand the problem.” 

Alexei looked over at Billy. “His mind is still prisoner, I think.” 

“The mindflayer is gone,” Steve said, feeling his anger rising. “I already _told_ you that.”

“I don’t think he meant the mindflayer,” Murray said. “I think he meant Neil Hargrove.” 

Billy looked down at the glass in his hands and his eyes started to look watery. 

“Ey,” Alexei said. Billy looked up at him. “I was prisoner too, in Russia. Literal prisoner. Caught with man in alley and locked in filthy prison until they use me as scientist for Army. I wait for months, eat gruel once a day, drink one ladle of dirty water, thinking, _now I going to die. Now I rot._ I start to think, maybe I deserve this because I am wrong. They plant that bug there, you know? Government. Parents. Everyone sink it into you mind that you wrong when you a man and prefer hard _khuy_ to wet _kiska_. But then I come here to America, and I _actually_ die, shot in the chest.Then they bring me back.” 

He paused and Murray started to rub his back. Alexei placed his hand on Murray’s thigh. “They do it so I can live here and be free -- no more government control of my heart.” His hand wrapped around Murray’s, but his gaze stayed on Billy. “You did not sit in jail. But you mind imprisoned by you father, and then you die. Then that fucking monster get you.”

Steve looked over and Billy’s eyes were still fixed on his glass. Tears started dripping down his cheeks.

Alexei leaned forward. “Now you back, and you father, you prison, is gone. A piece of shit, Murray tell me. Doctor Owens brings you back just like he did to me. I have chance to live again like how I want to. And so do _you_. Now is time for you to _live_.” 

Billy closed his eyes -- his eyelashes were wet and dark with tears, and he swallowed heavily. Steve reached over to pluck the glass from Billy’s hands and set it on the table, then pulled Billy’s hands on top of his thigh. He ran his thumb over Billy’s skin, fine scars under his fingers. 

“This good-looking young man next to you. Don’t be _durak_.” 

“C’mon honey,” Steve heard Murray say to Alexei, and he heard them shuffle off up the stairs, speaking quietly in Russian. Steve’s eyes never left Billy, though. 

Billy hiccuped a sob and Steve wished he could fill Billy up with the spots where he’d been left shattered. He pulled Billy up to his feet and Billy buried his face against Steve’s shoulder, weeping silently there. 

Piece by piece Billy had revealed details of how Neil treated him when stumbling across anything that seemed remotely queer that involved Billy, from a ringed smack to the mouth to shoving a bookcase onto him -- Steve had heard stories that made his skin crawl. He’d spit on Neil Hargrove’s grave more than once.

Slowly, Steve backed them toward the bedroom, then closed the bedroom doors behind them. 

**~*~**

Steve never thought that Billy would kiss him first. 

He’d thought about it a million times and in a million different ways, and he was _sure_ it would happen tonight. They’d come close in his kitchen that morning -- he’d gotten his hand up to cup Billy’s cheek, close enough to feel Billy’s breath fanning across his chin while he held Billy in his arms when the front door banged open and his parents came home unexpectedly. 

So they jumped apart, of course. 

At work Steve imagined how he’d lavish praise on Billy for coming this far, tell him out _proud_ of Billy’s physical and mental strength, practiced an earnest speech in his mind over and over before envisioning how soft Billy’s eyes would get under all of that, how Billy might look down at Steve’s lips, ready for it. 

But that’s not at all what happened. When Steve closed the bedroom door in Murray’s bunker, Billy crowded Steve back against it, his hands cupping Steve’s face and his lips soft -- his lips lingering telegraphing his point, the kiss lingering a long, long time. Making sure Steve _knew_. 

So Steve pressed up from the door and walked them back a step toward the bed. He returned the kiss as good as Billy gave it and somewhere in the middle of Billy’s mouth opening for Steve’s tongue, Steve managed to think _maybe this was Alexei’s talk, I need to thank Alexei_ , before Billy whispered _Steve_ and everything else went blank. 

Steve worked on peeling off Billy’s clothing and Billy was doing the same to Steve, jacket, shirt, belts and jeans falling to the floor in an awkward fumble. Somehow the words didn’t make it out of Steve’s mouth in this rush of affection -- it felt like some type of champagne bottle had been popped, loads of carbonation built up that needed relief, and they got on the bed, kicking down the sheets while Billy straddled Steve’s hips, naked, hard. 

Steve wasn’t sure exactly how, but he thank god that he managed to remember that the lube was in his bag and retrieved it right before they fell back onto the bed -- he poured some out and reached down to take both of their cocks in his hand, and Billy shifted so they lined up, hardness sliding against hardness. “Billy,” Steve whispered, and Billy moaned at that, so he continued -- tried to stay quiet, silently stroking them, saying softly, “so good baby, god you’re so good,” and that was all it took for Billy to start coming -- spilling between them for ages, it seemed like, all over Steve’s belly and even up to his chest. 

Billy’s hand came down, scooped up a bit of his own come with his fingers and used it to wrap around Steve’s cock and stroke him, looking down to watch when Steve said, “fuck I’m close.” Steve’s hands closed around Billy’s thighs, squeezing as he lost himself and came in Billy’s hand. 

Time grew hazy after that -- the world fading into fuzzy cotton, sleepiness broken only by Steve pulling a towel from his bag to wipe them off. They crawled in bed next to each other, and that was when Steve lavished the praise. That was when Steve told Billy, in the quiet of their room in the warehouse, words that hovered around them like dandelion fluff in the stillness of the night -- words of praise, of admiration, and of tenderness. 

Steve fell asleep wrapped around Billy’s back, his nose buried in Billy’s curls.

**~*~**

The next morning, Murray made them french toast. 

Really, Steve thought that he and Billy seemed pretty relaxed and non-chalant -- acted as if nothing had happened last night. Like some massive tipping of the scales hadn’t occured in someone else’s house just a couple dozen feet away. They ate in silence, sipping coffee quietly while Alexei attempted to do a crossword puzzle, cursing when he couldn’t remember a word in English. 

But when Murray said, “so did you get your hose taken care of?” Steve choked on his coffee. 

Alexei looked up with a giant grin. 

Steve felt his stomach flip. “I called the garage a little earlier. They said it’d be ready at ten.” 

“Phenomenal. I’ll drive you up there after breakfast. I’m glad you got everything -- sorted out.” 

Steve coughed dryly. “Uhm. Thanks.” 

“ _Everthing_.” Murray lifted his coffee mug. 

“Yeah, yep. Everything.” Steve was fairly certain he was going to die. 

“We fucked around,” Billy stated with a sly little smile. For the first time in a while, he looked smooth and confident -- a callback to a year ago. Like a cat that just got the canary. 

“No shit Sherlock,” Alexei said. 

“Aw, baby. You used your phrase of the week,” Murray cooed. 

It was gross, Steve thought -- Murray and Alexei’s affection. And cute. Both gross and cute. And now he felt all soft toward Billy, and they had another night that they could spend at the lake. 

Murray dropped them off as promised at the garage, and he got out after Steve. “Here,” he said, and gave Steve a bottle of vodka. “It’s the good stuff. Take it with you to the lake tonight and enjoy it with your boyfriend.” 

The word made something warm and happy twist up in Steve’s chest. He took the bottle from Murray’s hand and pulled him in for a brief hug. Affection for Murray Bauman was the last thing he thought he might be feeling over these two days -- but here he was, feeling like they’d been given the right push at the right time. “Thanks. I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> prettyboyporter on tumblr


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